


The Woman and the Queen

by Iane_Casey



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daenerys the woman, F/M, Fluff, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, POV Daenerys, POV Jon Snow, Queen Daenerys, some smut, targlings, unbetaed so all mistakes are mine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-02-13 01:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 20,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12972828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iane_Casey/pseuds/Iane_Casey
Summary: A series of drabbles and oneshots in an attempt to deconstruct the inner-workings of Daenerys' mind as both Queen and woman. Now also includes my Tumblr drabbles with either Jon or Dany interacting with the other people in their lives.





	1. Heart and Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Go easy on me, I'm still getting to know the characters better. :) Constructive criticism and honest thoughts would be very helpful.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This first oneshot follows Dany in her silent vigil at her post on the Wall at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. She'd just lost her son and the last ally she had, a man she had started harboring feelings for. Join me in trying to pick apart what must have been going through her mind, while adding some scenes of my own into the mix...

Warmth came naturally to Daenerys; the blood of the dragon kept unforgiving ice and frigid winds at bay. Her blood had never failed her until that fateful day. 

Eyes on the vast expanse of nothingness below, she had never felt so overcome by the cold.

Heart numb, her mind recalled everything that had transpired beyond the Wall, obsessed over it all in agonized silence, in denial and disbelief. A jagged knife twisted relentlessly in her chest as she thought, making it harder to breathe let alone wrap her mind around how it had happened at all.  

Two dragons overhead screeched and roared, emotions shifting from grief to rage and back again, calling out to their mother, but likewise resisting the comfort and love she so badly tried to convey. The bond that tethered them threatened to split her asunder, their anger and rage and pain and sorrow and everything else magnifying her own swirling emotions.  

It _had_ happened.

The encounter had subdued her lust for a birthright denied, reality wrestling it to the ground, forcing it to submit to reason. Its importance had not waned, the lust still burned bright and hot, but after having _seen_ she now understood what Jon Snow had desperately wanted her -all of them- to _understand_.  

That there was a greater and far more pressing war to win. That until the Night King lived, it did not matter who sat the Iron Throne for, divided, the known world would fall and all life would end in death only to live again as dead men risen, enslaved and mindless. The dead would engulf one kingdom after the other, beginning with the North, a storm surge of destruction that would never ebb, only flowing until it had taken every living being in its path. 

The sight of an invincible creature, fallen with one masterful stroke of an enchanted spear of ice, had given her pause and made her question her perceived strength. She was still dumbfounded that her dragon, the gentlest of her children, her Viserion had been slain.

The hope that an honorable man might have emerged from the frozen lake in which he’d fallen, and would burst forth from the forest below within the next heartbeat or the next breath from her lungs or the next bat of her eyelids slowly receded from her heart.

She had stood for too long, waited for too long, hoping for too much. 

After a moment of quiet contemplation, Jorah beseeched her that the time had come for them to depart.

“A bit longer,” she replied, never taking her eyes away from the forest below.

For all the power she held, she could not command the dead to rise. 

Regaining some semblance of composure, Daenerys shook her head. Grief and heartache were luxuries she could not hold on to, emotions she could not let engulf her, but she had to let herself feel, even if for a moment. 

Closing her eyes in pain, she wished she had had the opportunity to send them off for their journey into the afterlife, for their souls deserved peace. A pang shot through her heart at the thought of their remains, lost to the depths of the waters that had openly received them, embracing Viserion’s fallen form first before filling Jon Snow’s lungs and drowning him, both lost to her forever.

A shiver snaked along her spine, but she stood straight still, taking the cold for she deserved it, for failing to protect those under her charge. She stood at her post, silently casting her emotions into the wind; it was only a matter of time before she had to leave.

_If I look back, I am lost._

She mourned her child, mourned a man made for greater things. She mourned and hoped for at least Jon’s return, for she had seen life leave her son’s eyes, and cursed at the dead men marching their way for reasons unknown. The thought of the blue-eyed harbingers of death and destruction enraged her. It also made her fearful of what was to come.

Eventually, the woman submitted to the Queen, and her heart yielded to duty.

With Drogon, Rhaegal and the army she had amassed from Essos she would avenge the fall of Viserion and the honorable King in the North. With fire and blood, she would rally the country in the fight for Dawn.

Queen fully reclaiming the woman, Daenerys hung the remainder of her blind hope on the ledge of her post, and turned.

_For I have seen, now I know. I will fight for our people – yours and mine, Jon Snow. You have my word._

Distracting herself with the trek towards the winch, Daenerys started thinking about their next campaign. In order to aid the North, they—

At the sound of a horn blown, the shout about a rider approaching, and with a sliver of warm hope blooming within the ice that had become her heart, the woman overpowered the Queen and Daenerys approached the edge of the tower she’d just vacated.

Heart hammering, she tried to settle her emotions, but was powerless to stay the maelstrom.

The sight of him, barely alive, stole her breath altogether.

In the next heartbeat, she collected as much of herself as she could and turned on her heel to make her way to the lift. She was running, rather unbecoming for a queen, but she cared not. She had to feel the beat of his pulse beneath her palm before she believed he was real, for the sake of his people if not her sanity.

When she was informed that she had been beaten to the use of the winched lift, she cursed inwardly, blaming Ser Davos blindly. Without thinking, she started to descend the winding staircases of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, Jorah dutifully in pursuit and crying out pleas for her to descend carefully- she ignored him completely. It was foolish, she knew, but she could not stand idly and do nothing.

She would not wait for Death to try and claim him again.  

In what seemed like moon turns she stopped at a level not too far from where she’d started and was able to get onto the damned contraption.

 _I command you to live, Jon Snow. Live, and we will see the Night King fall, together._  

The need to see him alive tore at her. What if he made it back only to die before her all over again? Her conscience would not be able to survive it. Her heart even more so. He _had_ to live. Her palms were sore from the pressure of her nails digging in, the anxiety and hope within her all-consuming. 

The cart landed at the base of the tower with a soft creak and clatter of chains. The moment the doors were pried apart for her, she broke out into a fast walk, taking long strides to get to the King in the North. She’d been told he was taken to the other side of the Wall, Davos and everyone else they’d left assisting him.

If it were possible, her heart beat all the more dangerously as she neared. She scrutinized him as she approached, appraising his state. A part of her balked at the sight of him, nearly frozen over and deathly pale, his body jerking in short bursts as he shivered.

“There are not enough supplies to tend to his needs from here, Khaleesi,” Jorah informed her, answering her forthcoming question as to why they had assembled to take him to the ship.

She nodded her acknowledgement, understanding that the Night’s Watch hadn’t been properly funded in ages. It was another matter, for another time.

“We’ll have a tender for you right away, Your Grace,” Ser Davos told her in pardon, bowing his head in respect as they started to push at the small boat.

“You will make room for me, now, Ser Davos,” the Queen commanded in a calm voice, brokering no argument even as several men, including the Onion Knight, looked at her curiously. Unflinching, she offered no explanation, so they merely nodded and kept their lips sealed.

“Khaleesi-”

“You will get on the next one, Ser Jorah,” she ordered. “I merely want to see to it that he is not denied any immediate comfort and care aboard my own ship,” she added quietly, tilting her head in his direction, but not looking at him.

Her oldest friend knew better than to protest, and so he kept silent. She was grateful for it.

Ser Davos held out a hand to help her aboard the tender and she positioned herself parallel to the object of her thoughts.

_Live, Jon. Your Queen commands you._

Fingers clenching, she fought the impulse to reach out and touch him, to feel his pulse beneath her fingers, to give him the warmth he urgently needed. 

As the men rowed them towards the ship, she kept her gaze fixed onto his face and her hands to herself. As she marveled and wondered at how he’d made it back, she realized that she was no longer cold. She pursed her lips at the thought, but welcoming the warmth her own blood offered.

“How do you think…” she started to ask Ser Davos, and then trailed off as she glanced at the man lying prostate next to her. Her gaze shifted to the Onion Knight.  

Grunting as he rowed, Davos shook his head, at a loss for any possible explanation, but visibly grateful nonetheless. “I don’t know, Your Grace,” he told her in his thick Flea Bottom accent, “But my King’s been through much worse. I’m just glad the lad survived at all.” The older man shuddered at a memory unknown to her, causing her brows to draw together.

“Much worse?” she prodded.

“Aye, but ‘tis not my story to tell, Your Grace. Perhaps when he’s come to, you’ll have time to talk,” he told her gravely, his voice softening towards the end. 

“Perhaps,” she mused quietly, returning her gaze to his liege.

A gust of wind passed them and, impulsively, her hand reached out to brush a wayward raven curl from Jon’s face. She stifled a gasp at his temperature, reminding her of the danger he was still in. Fear slithered into her heart yet again.

“Not long now, Your Grace, we’ll warm him up and give him rest,” Davos assured, apparently watching her one-sided interaction with his King.

When they finally made it onto the ship’s deck, Davos barked out orders for what to fetch before he’d even stepped out of the tender.

She followed them in silence as they hurriedly carried Jon’s body to his cabin and dumped him onto the bed.

Standing by the doorway, she watched as Davos and another man pried his frozen clothes off of his body, skin almost coming along, making her cringe as if it were her own they were handling. She ignored the men coming and going from the room, one right after the other, carrying the supplies the Hand of the King had demanded: furs, sheets of cloth, a basin, hot water, candles and whatever else he’d said above deck.

Clothes off and discarded on the wooden planks at their feet, she watched as they eased him onto the bed. 

Time itself stood still at her first glimpse of the puckered scars scattered over his chest and torso. The bruises over his body bloomed angrily, coloring him almost black and blue. Her eyes nearly watered as she took in the curved imprint of the blade that must had pierced his heart.  

He hadn’t just taken one knife to the heart, as she recalled Davos so passionately revealed when they first met, he had also taken knives to his torso. 

She shook her head in disbelief, unable to imagine how he had survived what she was seeing.

“Is this what you meant by ‘much worse,’ Ser Davos?” she breathed, still stunned as she took it all in, including the indisputable truth of what Jon had gone through.

The Onion Knight looked at her, his skin flushed in what could only be embarrassment at having been found out.

_A figure of speech. Northron flights of fancy. No. How could he have-_

Shaking her head once more, she regulated her breathing. He was alive. He was healing. At that moment, it was all that mattered.

_Jon Snow, this world does not deserve you._

Ser Davos was about to respond, but she raised a hand and instead gestured towards the basin he had retrieved from the other corner of the room. The man handed it to her along with a strip of cloth, eyes anxious as she moved wordlessly around the bed to sit by his King’s side.

“Perhaps…” she mumbled uncertainly, looking down at another brave man—perhaps the _bravest_ , she’d almost lost, “Perhaps, he would tell me himself, when he’s recovered.”

“Your Grace,” Ser Davos bowed, expelling a breath of relief.

She was certain that he would have told her, had she prompted, but if and when she came to know of the truth, she would hear it straight from the man who had kept it from her in the first place.

“The water’s boiling hot, Your Grace, maybe—”

“I can take it, Ser Davos,” she waved him off, twisting the cloth with her hands, to squeeze out the excess.

If the man was surprised she didn’t so much as flinch at the heat, he didn’t show it. Instead, he busied himself with lighting candles within the room before taking his leave.

_You’re maddening, Jon Snow, but I would not have you any other way._

The thought made her smile and her heart swelled a little bit more. She took a deep breath and did her best to rein in her emotions, good and bad, and just focused on aiding the man before her.

Comely, she thought, appraising his face as she worked, for she had to distract herself with other thoughts lest she fell apart. Being in his presence was comforting albeit heartbreaking, causing her to relive the events of the day all over again.

She ran a cloth on the scar above his left eye, and then tracing the continuance of it just below.

_What story does this scar tell, my brave warrior?_

It made him look older, more experienced. With his hair tousled, as it was at that moment, his youth showed despite the discomfort lining his features, and she was blown away by the sight.

They were both too young to fight the wars they were fighting, but there they were, two monarchs who only wanted what was best for the people, particularly the downtrodden and those who could not protect themselves.

_One day, we will sit down and share our stories, Jon Snow._

At the press of the cloth to his nape, a guttural whimper parted his lips, and she hushed him with a sweet cadence to her voice. He settled almost immediately, pressing his face into her palm, making her internally rejoice at his unwitting reaction to her soothing. Momentarily, she let go of the cloth and allowed herself the small comfort of feeling his pulse, weak but present, making her sigh in relief and utter gratitude that he had survived.

Like a wolf, he unknowingly nudged at her palm and she stroked the side of his face affectionately, causing a tear to finally slide free from one of her lids.

She wished she could simply end the torment he was experiencing. He shivered once more and she watched the taut muscles beneath her fingers contract and release violently, tugging painfully at her chest.

_Wake up soon, Jon._

_For your people._

_For your brother and sisters._

_For me._


	2. If Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this drabble, we follow Daenerys' thoughts as she sees off two men: her old bear, who had only just returned, and the King in the North, whose counsel she'd started to value and whose presence she's only just begun to truly appreciate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your feedback and kudos on Heart and Duty- I truly appreciate them! 
> 
> If you follow me on Tumblr, this is literally one of the drabbles I've already posted. :) Just adding it here for the other who haven't joined us there. I haven't had the time to write the next one shot, because the holidays totally swallowed me up. Leave a comment/kudos if you liked this shorty. 
> 
> I hope to have more time soon, to whip up some Jonerys goodies for you. 
> 
> Happy New Year!

The sun did not grace them with its presence that day, completely hidden behind thick, heavy clouds. Dragonstone and the waters of the Narrow Sea became set in an almost sullen, grey light. The tide partook in the mood, unforgiving and violent.

If Daenerys didn’t know better, she would have taken it as a foreshadowing, the weather and seas seemingly warning her. Fear and doubt crept up her spine, but she stood straight and steadfast in her duty to see the men off.

The mission was a mad undertaking, but she would not have been able to stop Jon Snow from leaving. It would have added more tension to their already delicate alliance. If such alliance existed at all. The only certainty she knew was that he wasn’t her enemy.

Proof was what he needed to make them understand, they had all agreed. To make them _see_ , he was more than willing to sacrifice his life in the name of the more urgent and greater cause: the war between the living and the dead. It was naive, their hope that Cersei would align herself to their cause, for the greater good, but if the Night King’s army was as large as Jon Snow declared, they needed all the help they could get.

_If Jon Snow speaks true._

The part of her that wanted to regain what was rightfully hers thought him and his cause a distraction. Honorable as he was, she still doubted his words. She still didn’t fully believe the monsters he had described were real, even after having seen the ancient drawings on the cave walls beneath her family’s ancestral seat. Nevertheless, being the only ally she had left, she had decided to let him leave and trust that he would return to her, successful. Or at least alive. She wished them good fortune, she did, but she also feared the terrifying reality success would deliver.

Nearing the base of the castle, she composed herself and approached Jorah who was already by the shoreline. She momentarily set aside her worries, and teased him, referencing their past. There was not much to say; they had parted and reunited more times than she can count.

No further words spoken, she let her firm grip and her eyes speak for herself. She saw recognition crystalize in his eyes and in the next heartbeat he understood her wordless command for him to take care and return to her. That despite everything, she still needed him.

The sound of more boots against water and sand reached their ears, making Jorah turn his head. She watched intently as his face fell imperceptibly and, curious, she turned to see why. The King in the North and his retinue were headed their direction. Just as quickly, her gaze returned to Jorah and she watched him press his lips against her left one. With one last squeeze of her hands he let go. She loved him, truly, but not in the way he’d yearned his own love for her reciprocated. 

Her eyes were on her oldest friend until Jon Snow stopped before her, pulling at his leather glove. The King himself would lead the expedition. It was heroic, if not foolish. She had no need of more heroes who would later die from their bravery.

If she ignored the fondness she had come to feel for the man, she would admit that his reasoning did make sense. He was the only one who had fought the army of the dead and he was the only one the wildlings would follow. Damn him, for asking her to trust in him. Damn him, for rendering her incapable of making him stay after owning up to his title. 

Taking in the features of the comely man before her, the sensation of impending doom gripped at her once more.

Their eyes met and her heart beat faster when his face softened. He looked down at the glove he’d been adjusting, and then japed, “If I don’t return, at least you won’t have to deal with the King in the North anymore.”

With the last word he regarded her once more and smiled warmly, the smile neither wide nor small, but reaching his captivating eyes nevertheless. His smile was a precious rarity, she’d realized. She wondered whether it was because of his experience in his short life, his experience as a bastard, or if she’d been a terrible host. Whatever the reason, she hoped to see more of the smile he’d just given, if not a wider one, but she thought that might be asking too much. 

_I want to see more of this side of you, Jon Snow._

“I’ve grown used to him,” she replied with her own smile, all the while hoping that in the next beat of her heart he would tell her he’d changed his mind. That he would call the whole trip off. That he would bend the knee and stand beside her as she took what was hers from the undeserving queen that was Cersei Lannister. But she had come to know the type of man Jon Snow was, and he wasn’t that type of man. Like her, he would fight tooth and nail to bring peace. Like her, he was stubborn when his mind was set to attain a particular goal. Like her, all he wanted was to keep his people safe from the monsters who sought to do them harm. He would always die trying to do the right thing. A true hero. If only heroes did not fall so often. A pang went through her at the thought.

His smile remained, seemingly out of character due to his brooding nature, but she swore his face brightened the slightest bit at her words.

_Tyrion is wrong. He’s not in love with me. He feels something, but it is not love._

Her heart then sank just as it fluttered, a conflicting mixture that threatened to betray the show of strength she wanted to project. She steeled herself against her roiling emotions. She would send him on his way with a smile.

She held his gaze a moment longer, the strain to not allow herself to drown in those deep, dark pools a grueling endeavor, because a part of her wanted to lose herself in them.

“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, Your Grace,” he finally said, after having gathered himself.

Polite smiles were exchanged and he nodded at her in farewell, a nod she returned, eyes following his retreating form. She watched him take his place alongside the men, helping in pushing the tender onto deeper water. She noticed Jorah look back at her and she gave him a wistful smile before fixating on the back of the King in the North’s head.

A part of her wished for him to glance back and find her looking at him, but he did not. Eyes forward, he led his retinue forward.

_I command you to return, Jon Snow. Successful or not, you must return and ally yourself to my cause as I am willing to ally myself to yours. Together we can change this world for the better._

In the few moons she had come to know him, he’d grown on her. He was infuriating when they had first met, wearing her patience thin, refusing to bend the knee and prattling on about wights and the Night King, but he had also given her much-needed advice and honest counsel throughout his stay. Conversations between them had also flowed surprisingly easy, eventually, once they had established that neither was one’s enemy. 

He had tempered her more violent impulses when all she’d wanted to do was burn the Red Keep to the ground and end the tyranny of the mad lioness cowering within its bloody walls. He had unknowingly reminded her of her true purpose, when violence was the only thing left she wanted to turn to, in the face of losing her allies in their failed campaigns. Drogon had even allowed him to stroke his snout. That had struck her as both interesting and astounding. It had aroused her, too, to be honest, for who would ever stand before a dragon the way he had?  

When, finally, all of them had climbed aboard the tender, floating unsteadily over the shallow water, she exhaled and turned on her heels.

She hadn’t taken more than a few steps when the urge to glance back suddenly stopped her. She succumbed to it and looked back to find Jon Snow looking at her, his face inscrutable and brooding yet again, but softer as he regarded her pensively.

Without thinking she gave him the smallest of smiles that she wished brought him some semblance of strength. Maybe even hope. Gods knew everyone who would be joining him in the expedition needed every ounce they could get.

The thought of him falling beyond the Wall, dying in a barren wasteland of ice and snow, caused her to shudder and her skin to prickle in gooseflesh. She felt a twinge in her chest at the thought that it may be the last time she saw him, if the plan failed.

It did not help that it seemed to be the norm, as of late: Tyrion’s clever plans failing.


	3. Come Back to Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wars have been won, and peace has been restored. One morning, Daenerys basks in the love she feels for her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble inspired by a random song I heard on Spotify. You wouldn't believe how fast this shit got typed. 
> 
> This was previously posted on Tumblr. Just reposting it here as well. 
> 
> I've recently moved CONTINENTS, so that's the reason for my lack of new drabbles/oneshots. Please bear with me as I work on some priorities (like getting a job, LOL).

“Come back to bed, my love.”

Turning to look at her, the beginnings of a smile blossomed on her husband’s lips. The sight never failed to set her heart aflutter.

“We prosper,” she crooned, pulling at the fur coverlet of their bed to further lure him back to her side. Back into her arms. “Peace has been restored. A few more hours will not plunge the kingdom into chaos.

His true smile rent her heart beautifully, warming her, body and soul.  

“Besides,” she pouted theatrically, “It’s not until after we’ve broken our fast. And there’s still time before that as well.”

He was helpless when it came to such sweet requests from his wife.

A rare occasion, Daenerys being the instigator of shirking their duty. But there was nothing of dire need to be discussed that morning, at least not to Jon’s knowledge. He knew better than to hope it would always be the case, but hope he did, regardless.

An intentionally gruff sigh left his lips, making her smile at him in turn. He quietly disrobed, pulling at cloth and leather, and then crawled back into bed, naked as his name day.

“I never could deny you anything,” he teased against her lips before greeting her for the start of the day the best way he knew how. With his lips and his tongue and his touch laced with a tenderness her youth had scarcely known.

On a breath their merged lips parted. The tip of his nose ran the length of hers. She basked in the silence, their chambers quiet and the city outside only starting to come alive with the activity of commerce.

A hand slid from the back of his neck to cup his cheek. His eyes closed as he leaned into her touch, lips pressing into her palm, his beard tickling her soft skin. She smiled.

_Home_ , she thought, eyes lovingly tracing his features, _my home_.

She had always thought it to be a place. Something to be reclaimed with the words of her once fallen house and an army at her back. But Dragonstone had not felt like home. Neither did King’s Landing, when the wars were won and they had prevailed.

She could never have imagined home to be a person.

A man. Him. Jon.

And now, Rhaella, a daughter their love had brought into the world; their miracle.

Never had she been so elated to have been wrong.

Home was her family.

“I love you,” she whispered, emotion lodged in her throat and her heart torn asunder by the strength of what she felt for him.

A tear slid down the side of her face.

Jon mapped its trail with his lips, mouth hovering close to her ear afterward, telling her, “And I, you.”

Reverent fingers carded through her silver tresses. One hand framed the curve of her jaw, the calloused pad of his thumb worshipping her skin and basking in the heat emanating from her.

“More than I can ever hope to show, Dany.” His brow pressed against hers, a heavy exhale ghosting over the side of her face.

Her eyes screwed shut, endlessly bowled over whenever he said such silly things.  

A heartbeat later she met his eyes. “Show me still,” she murmured instead, yet another teasing smile on her thoroughly plundered lips, choosing not to acknowledge his words for he already knew she felt the same.

It had taken time for him to accept his true parentage, his true _lineage_ , but the scars and memories of his youth as the sole stain to the honorable Eddard Stark’s name never truly left him. She would never blame him- she had her share of scars- but it ate at her sometimes.

He was borne of love, born heir. He should not feel so undeserving of who he was, of what was his, by right.

More than once she had asked herself what she had done to deserve him. No answer came to her and she was certain one would never come.

Together they had done many an impossible thing and together they now ruled over a kingdom recovering from discord.

Together they will see it fully restored, their people thriving, and the Wheel forever broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that last chapter was a bust. LOL. 
> 
> Good thing I post these on Tumblr, where people seem more inclined to leave notes. 
> 
> If you guys want that smutty one shot from me, here, you better show some love. I'm actually leaning towards just posting on Tumblr altogether and shutting down this account. Not being a diva or anything- just seems more practical vs posting in two places where the story gets hits, but feedback is like ...(tumbleweed)...


	4. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys is hurt by Jon's handling of Bran and Sam's revelations.

"I am not mad," Daenerys firmly stated, keeping her eyes focused on the barren hills of the North, the hills he had told her were beautiful in Summer, whispers in the dark while they lay abed.

Warm beneath fur blankets and skin on skin, he had promised to show their seasonal splendor. He whispered an almost palpable desire to share a place she had only ever sought in unfamiliar lands.

Home.

Closing her eyes, she could still recall the sensation of his breath against her skin as they laid abed, wrapped around one another, sated and spent. She was a fool to think arriving at Winterfell would be as easy as docking at White Harbor.

Would that Jon overcame the burden of recent revelations and they survived these wars, she would remind him of his vow to take her back and show her the beauty of the northern kingdom, when the grass come alive once more and the flowers bloom their fullest.

When peace reigned once more across all seven kingdoms.

Jon regarded her sadly, guilt and shame seeping through the furs over his shoulders and the layers of his clothing more than the cold and snow.

Standing tall and rigid before him, he watched the Dragon Queen and his betrothed. She may have begun hiding her good and gentle heart from his careless hands, but she could not hide the shiver that slithered up her spine.

"Dany," he whispered, noticing how the low burr of his voice made her wince. In the next moment, her back straightened.

His heart lurched at the memory of her telling him how her brother had always urged her to stand straight, to never slouch. Of how he had been far from gentle towards the end of his days.

She shivered once more, a little too violently for his liking.

He did not want her to fall ill.

He had never meant to hurt her.

"I will find you later," she dismissed, still staring ahead. "Then you may tell me how I've come to disgust you."

Nose flaring for his poor handling of everything after Bran and Sam's revelations, he stepped forward, damning everything, and wrapped his arms around her shivering body. He had never seen her this cold. He berated himself for his stupidity.

He could not leave her be after those words. 

"You do _not_ disgust me," he claimed, pulling her to him.

When she neither responded nor returned his embrace, he sighed, steeling himself. He was not the best with emotions, was even worse with words. 

"I needed but a moment to take it all in," he explained quietly, one hand caressing her arm, "I am _sorry_ I hurt you. I never meant to."

"You withdrew," she whispered, the depths of her hurt unraveling before his eyes as she shrank, visibly unsure whether to allow his touch or break free from his hold entirely.

"You did not _trust_ me."

He was not noble. Far from it. He'd cut her deeply. His fath- uncle...

A pang shot through his chest at the thought.

Noble Ned Stark would have been disappointed in him.

"I reacted poorly," Jon acknowledged, accepting his wrongdoing and feeling himself deflate at the gravity of it. "I _do_ trust you," he added softly. "More than anyone."

The question hung in the air.

_Then why?_

Afraid to hear the answer yet yearning for the reason anyway, she remained quiet, stiff and guarded. Her head had lowered, the fingers of her hand flattened over the dark stone of the rampart.

Knowing full well she deserved to know what had driven him to distance himself from her and everyone else without as much as a word, for a handful of days they couldn’t afford to lose, he exhaled a shuddering breath and turned her to face him. She needed to see the sincerity in his eyes, needed to believe that the last thing he had wanted to do was what he had ended up doing anyway.

The woman within her held onto the pride she's nurtured into armour, but the part of her that loved him dearly capitulated and held onto his forearms, fingers pressing onto his flesh in hopes of comforting him. In hopes of reminding him that he _could_ talk to her about anything.

"Tell me," she encouraged softly. Gone was the ice in her tone, replaced by a soothing warmth he did not deserve. "Talk to me," she urged.

Lifting his gaze from the snow-laden rampart to meet hers, a heavy breath escaped him. A gloved hand rose between them to cup her cheek as he chastised himself internally at the sight of unshed tears pooling at the corners of her expressive violet eyes.

Visibly, she melted into his touch, long eyelashes fluttering and making his heart clench when she whispered, "Please."

He did not deserve this woman.

"All that chaos and death," he started, a sudden rage simmering in the pit of his stomach, burdened by the blood spilled to bring him into the world. "All because your brother wanted my..." _Gods..._

"Mother," she supplied, heart clenching at the sight of his turmoil.

He opened his mouth to respond, but she pressed a gloved finger over his lips, already shaking her head even before he could negate her.

He did not deserve her.

"Lyanna Stark _is_ your mother," she pressed, voice tender and understanding, dragging the finger over his lips to settle above his left breast. Taking a deep breath, she nodded imperceptibly and continued, "I cannot speak for my brother. All I know of him was not earned firsthand. They were stories from people I've encountered who did know him. But Bran said he loved your mother. And she loved him. You were never a bastard and you were never borne of rape."

“I was borne of greed,” he hissed quietly, nose flaring.

She leaned her forehead against his prickly chin, the sensation comforting. He had allowed her close for the first time in days. She would take any proximity he would allow. Her heart dearly hoped he was drawing comfort from her as well. 

“You were borne of _love_ ,” Daenerys emphasized, “A rare thing in this cruel world.”

"Ever since I was a boy, I have always wanted to be a Stark," Jon whispered against her hair, one of his hands cradling her nape. She pulled away to seek his eyes, brows drawn once more. "To have what Robb had. To be anything and anyone else but the Bastard of Winterfell."

"You _are_ a Stark," she pressed, fingers clutching his own tightly, "But you are also Targaryen. Blood of my blood."

A bittersweet smile on his lips told her how he felt about the truth revealed.

While Daenerys had immediately rejoiced, Jon had felt as if he'd been pulled into the icy depths of the waters beyond the Wall once more.

"Our relation does not disgust me," Jon whispered, answering the question on the tip of her tongue. He pursed his lips as he regarded her. "It should, but it doesn't. Starks had married within the family, in the past."

"Nothing you did pushed me away, I swear it," he added, his guilt and regret written on his face. "I am sorry, truly." He caressed the apple of her cheek with a thumb, wiping a tear that had finally fallen.

Despite the betrayals and hurt she had experienced in her short lifetime thus far, nothing could have stopped her from forgiving the man before her with all her heart.

"I love you, Dany," he whispered, pressing his temple to hers and wrapping his arms around her.

She clung to him with a sigh, her heart finally unclenching and light for the very first time in days, his words easing the ache like a salve.

With his steadying heartbeat against her ear, she whispered her love in return, happy that while certain things have changed, nothing really has, at least between the two of them.

Daenerys inhaled deeply as she moulded herself against the solid strength of him, taking in his scent; freshly-fallen snow, pine needles, and something else that was uniquely him.

For what seemed like an eternity they stood beneath the ever-greying sky, until Jon tipped her chin towards him and pressed his lips to hers briefly.

When he pulled away, he murmured, “Let’s go inside and get you warm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go easy on me. :) Besides, this is but a humble drabble. Hope you liked it! Let me know your thoughts.


	5. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys decides to stay when Jon asks her to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what you think in the comments section: too fluffy? Just right? Want more? Holler.

“Please don’t leave.”

She inhaled sharply, caught unaware by his impulsive yet quiet request.

He waited for her to decide, his brows drawing together the longer she stood there, unmoving.

A heartbeat later she turned, violet eyes glassy with unshed tears once more.

Before him stood the real Daenerys, he observed, and his heart went out to her and her loss. Though she did not blame him he was still wrought with guilt nonetheless.

He patted the space she had recently vacated, inviting her to reclaim her perch beside him. If he was bold enough he would have asked her to lay abed with him, so he could shield her from the cruel world.

She sat back down next to him- closer even- the warmth of her hip radiating through the thick fur that blanketed his lower half.

"I almost lost you," Daenerys whispered after a moment, taking his hand and running her thumb over his calloused knuckles. 

She kept her gaze low, seemingly overwhelmed by the strength of her fear of almost losing him, too. She could have lost him before they even met- if the scars she saw- _was seeing_ \- were any indication of the truth in Ser Davos’ words. She would wait for him to tell her the story of how he was brought back. For now, she was simply content in having him before her, alive. Having gotten to know him better the past couple of moons, she could not fathom the thought of losing him. 

 

Another tear slipped past her fortified defences and it was all Jon could take before he tried to sit up, so he could wipe away the others that followed.

"Jon," she gasped quietly, scolding him for his disregard for himself, all the while pushing him back down gently with a palm over his scarred chest.

The contact made him draw a sharp breath, the heat of her palm a pleasant surprise until it dawned on him that she had never seen his scars until earlier that day. Stiffening, he waited for the inevitable question, but she never asked, choosing instead to take hold of his hand once more.

Bent forward, her face was close enough for him to reach and he dared cup her cheek to swipe at the wetness, drying it against her skin instantly.

"I'm truly sorry about Viserion," he whispered again, swallowing the lump in his throat at the sight of her walls crumbling.

Daenerys bit her lip and shook her head, ready to absolve him as she had, but he was quick to add, "Regardless. I'm sorry for your loss."

Sighing, she nodded, accepting his apology and empathy.

“You must rest now, Jon.” Her command was tender, almost loving, and she leaned forward to press her lips to his forehead, catching him off guard.

Eyes closing at the sensation, Jon exhaled through his nose, the fingers of his free hand taking hold of the tail of her braided hair. The pad of his thumb ran along the tips not bound by the tie, reveling in the softness of her mane.

“Aye, my Queen,” he nodded before pulling back and looking up to meet the most captivating eyes he’s ever gazed upon.

His Dany smiled, making his heart leap in a joy he could not possibly allow himself to feel lest it be torn from his grasp.

“Rest,” she repeated, more firmly this time, squeezing the hand enclosed in his. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

When she retracted her hand, a part of him mourned the loss of her touch.

He watched as she stood, heart thudding stupidly in his chest, fearing her departure. But she was not leaving- he noticed that she was just retrieving a book she must have left on the chair in one corner of the room.

She was back by his side in the blink of an eye and he immediately relaxed when she started to read a story about her ancestors and a particular Targaryen prince he had pretended to be as a young boy.

 

“Thank you, Dany,” he said, the smallest of smiles lifting the corners of his mouth right before sleep claimed him once more.

Daenerys returned his smile, her own widening as his breathing evened out. Reaching forward, she brushed an errant curl from his serene face, heart at peace just at the sight of him.


	6. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little smut and a sprinkle of internal thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penny for your thoughts? Hope you like it! :)

Soft skin and blunted nails roamed aimlessly across Jon’s mutilated torso as he rode Daenerys, his breathing laboured as thrust after thrust after thrust buried him deeper within her quivering heat.

Eyes half-lidded he watched her throw her head back, pupils fat and blown wide as her fingers dug into his forearm.

He was cradled between her powerful thighs, her locked legs around him a reminder that she was a dragonrider. The only one left. Basking in the heat of their subdued power, he ran his hands from her hips to her thighs to her calves and up again, overcome at the feel of her blood singing under his touch.

Like a prayer, her name left his lips and he pressed himself closer. She shuddered as he slid a hand up the side of her breast and the length of her neck before cradling her flushed cheek. He pressed his lips to her forehead, exhaling as he withdrew before surging forward once more, making her turn her face towards his palm, seeking refuge from the pleasure and sting of his movements inside her.

They were quiet save for the breathy sounds evoked by the intoxicating friction of him taking her and the feel of their hands, fingers, and nails digging and clawing and wandering one another’s heated, sweat-dampened bodies.

There were no words to be said, both aware of the gravity of their actions, the uncertainty of the future, and the undeniable certainty that what they were taking part in was more than lust.

Something drew them together, something mysterious and magical yet altogether frightening to accept, everything else considered.

Fate had done them more harm than good in the past, seeming to want nothing more than to bring them pain, suffering, and betrayal from those they had come to trust most. Then again, it must have been the same force that had brought them together. 

A sharp cry tore past her lips when the blunt head of his cock kissed her womb, her nails mercilessly digging into his shoulder. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, a whimper of pain escaping her even as she welcomed his warm seed within her clutch. He continuously rocked his hips against her until they both settled, prolonging their climax as much as he could. 

As they recovered, Jon rested against her breasts, an ear pressed against her racing heart. Her cunt was damp where he was resting against her, his seed and her wetness coating his skin. He could hear her breathe in and out, fascinated by the way air left and entered her body. The sound of her heart beating was slowly lulling him to sleep, reminding him that he should soon lay on his side and collect her against him so as not to crush her petite form. 

She toyed with his damp raven curls, fingers twirling at and threading through his wild hair, eyes screwed shut as a sudden, nagging fear threatened to take over the peace she’s just found in his arms. 

Fate could not be so cruel as to bring them together only to tear them apart, could it? 


	7. In Perpetuity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Jon succumbs to sleep at Daenerys' behest, he wakes up to find her in his cabin once more. Against their better judgement they surrender to the blossoming feelings within them and admit to wanting one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At NoOrdinaryLines' request, adding this one on in here as well. I hope you like it! 
> 
> Not sure I've mentioned it here, but these drabbles allow me to try and get a better handle of their characters and personalities. <3 Would love to hear your thoughts on their thoughts and how I came about writing the dialogue. Thanks for reading!

 

Darkness had reclaimed Jon almost immediately after he screwed his eyes shut at Daenerys’ behest, allowing her the opportunity to flee the powerful yet frightening silence they had found themselves in.

When he woke again, his vision hazy as he came to, his eyes landed on the small figure curled up in a chair, propped up against a corner of his cabin with a worn book on her lap.

A blooming sensation in his chest yearned to call her name, to beckon her closer the way she’d been when he first regained consciousness, but he refrained from making a sound, choosing to take in the unworldly sight of her instead.

A glance at her slender fingers clenching the spine of the book reminded him of how they had felt wrapped around his own, drawing strength and comfort from him as though he’d anchored her over the tumultuous waves of her grief.

She was warmth personified, fire made flesh like the dragons she called her children. Cold and numb, he had drawn heat and comfort from her touch, hoping it would thaw him faster. It did. In more ways than one, to be honest.

He wondered if she’d felt the scrape of his burnt skin, callous from a scar that never healed enough and fighting battles that seemed to have no end. Just as Ser Alliser Thorne had vowed.

He flexed his fingers, closing his eyes momentarily to try and refocus not on the dark words of a dead man but on the peculiar presence of the woman in his cabin.

She had fled from him earlier, but he would be mad to deny that her presence soothed the guilt that was eating at him from the inside out like maggots on a carcass.

At the precipice of two wars, love was most dangerous to let flourish.

He’d already cost her a dragon- a _son_. How much more would he take from her? How much more could he ask?

How much more would she give?

And just how much was he willing to sacrifice in turn?

_Love is the death of duty._

What they were to face went beyond him and her. It went beyond what they could have, together, if they were to allow themselves to be carried by whatever force drew them to one another. They could not be selfish.  

If he were being honest, he did not deserve her, truly. The damned realm did not deserve her. But the reality was, she is exactly who it needed to rebuild anew; to break a wheel that has only ever turned and turned and took and took and trampled on millions beneath its crushing weight.

If there was a cause he was willing to die for it would be the war against the Night King and her campaign to set things right in all the divided kingdoms. With her vision and steadfast spirit, one cannot help but feel hopeful that peace could actually be attained. A lasting peace.

A beautiful dream it could only be, he thought, but it did seem like nothing was impossible with the numbers under her command and the dragons bound to her.

He blinked, swallowing the lump that had formed in his parched throat, before trailing his gaze back to gaze at her face while she slept.

His cheeks colored when he realized she’d stirred and was actually returning his gaze. He hoped he didn’t look moonstruck, drawn to her inherent light like a wolf to the moon at its fullest.

“You left abruptly,” he ended up saying, deciding to tease her, his voice guttural and gruff with disuse. He was unable to help the upward tug at a corner of his lip. She seemed relaxed, so he hoped he would not frighten her off with his boldness.

A pretty flush bloomed high on the apples of her cheeks and he felt his heart lodge itself in his throat. _Gods, her beauty was without equal._

A master of her own emotions when she wanted to be, even after he’d caught her off guard with his greeting, she righted herself on her seat, folded the book that had been spread face down across her lap and then set it on the table next to her chair.

“You needed rest,” she waved off smoothly, rising from her perch. “I seemed naught but a distraction.”

It was his turn to pinken for there was only truth in her claim.

“I would readily prefer the sight of Your Grace over Davos’ salt and pepper beauty and blunt tongue,” Jon quickly retorted, making her let out a melodious laugh, one he’d only just heard the previous night, when he’d so boldly called her Dany. He would endeavor to draw from her lips sounds of joy and lightness, if she would honor him with more opportunities in the future, as dark and uncertain as it may be.

“What’s wrong?” His face must have darkened when her question was aired, and her thick brows drew together in worry.

Emboldened by their newfound rapport she positioned herself where he’d first found her upon his waking and slipped her hand into his, her fingers hopefully able to warm his still cold body.

“I know not what will happen in the wars to come,” he shuddered, grip tightening on her smaller hand in his, “But I want you, Dany,” he whispered, warring with himself even as he declared himself hers, “If you’ll have me.”

“We will avenge the death of your son and I my Uncle Benjen,” he quietly promised, onyx eyes fixed on her lilac gaze. “I know not if we’ll succeed, but should we emerge victorious, I will rally my banners to your cause as promised and all seven kingdoms will be yours.” There was not a doubt in his mind that if anybody deserved the damn throne Cersei Lannister sat upon, it was Daenerys.

“As will I,” he added in a barely heard promise, eyes on their interlaced fingers before drawing it up to meet her now softening gaze once more, “in perpetuity.”

His eyes softened towards the end of his proclamation, as did hers, she was certain, for her heart threatened to burst out of its cavity with the strength of its drumming.

Without a proper response to what he’d just said she bent forward to press her forehead against his, watching as his soul-searching eyes fluttered shut. Her own eyes closed of their own accord while he raised their joined hands over the scar where he’d been stabbed. She bit her lip at the pang the thought of never having met him shot to her heart.

Pulling away slightly, her lips tentatively sought his, drawing comfort and hope from his mouth.

Exhaling through her nose she allowed his tongue to part the seam of her mouth and met him halfway, her own pressing forward to glide against his. One of his hands molded itself against the curve of her jaw, angling her to his satisfaction. With a fierce gentleness she’d never been shown he drank from her sweet lips. She sighed into his mouth, the end of it coming out as a whimper. It almost felt like she was breathing true life back into him- a feeling he had not felt since his inexplicable return.

If breathing was not a necessity he would have never stopped, would have happily died with the taste of her on his tongue and the smoothness of her skin against his touch. Instead, he pressed his face against hers and allowed them the chance to recover, hoping she wouldn’t regret what had just transpired between them.

“Jon,” she breathed, palm cradling the side of his face.

She stole a glance at his lips, the soft pad of her thumb running against it. He shuddered.

When she bent forward, his heart lurched beautifully as she ran the tip of her nose against his, nuzzling him tenderly. He breathed her in as much as he could, fearing that moment would be the only opportunity she’d ever allow.

He was still a bastard yearning for the love of a queen he couldn’t have.

A white wolf on a grey field, howling for the moon to leave the heavens for his love.

Daenerys watched as doubt and fear crossed his features, and her heart ached for him, for what the cruel world had etched into his psyche.

With a finger, she tilted his chin, so he could meet her fierce gaze.

“I am yours, Jon Snow,” she promised, heart visibly coming unburdened before him from her own words.

With a soft smile and a playful twinkle in her amethyst eyes she added, “In perpetuity.”


	8. Never Let Me Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Jon know they shouldn't be doing what they were, but nothing felt as right as being with one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not THE boatsex, but some boatsex for you. With all the feels, bells, and whistles. ;) Show some love if you liked it! 
> 
> Happy to hear what you think, good or bad. (phrased constructively, of course!). Happy Sunday!

 

“Jon,” Daenerys gasped, lips parting as she succumbed to the intensity of her release.

Jon watched her through half-lidded eyes, drunk on the sight of her losing control beneath him. Her body arched, muscles taut and eyes shut as she came, skin aglow like the moon itself. He smoothly rolled his hips into the cradle of hers like the waves ferrying them to White Harbor, the blunt head of him kissing her womb over and over again. He groaned, burying his face where her neck met her shoulder.

It was not honorable, filling her with his seed, pumping her full of him and the hope that it would quicken and give her what she desired more than the Iron Throne itself, but he did it anyway. He had done it every time they coupled since they set sail for the north. She seemed to savor the sensation just as much as he did, her quivering cunt purposely milking him dry.

He would marry her, if she would have him, he vowed, lips suckling her pulse point as his free hand carded through silver locks seemingly aflame from the candle burning by the bedside.

She will be loved unconditionally, for once, he swore fiercely, recalling everything she’d divulged when he first stood before her.

Warm fingers drew him towards soft lips, already pink and plump from their kisses. She bit on his lower lip, making him growl low and thrust lazily into her. His senses were hazy from the scent, sound and sensation of the wetness where they were joined, his seed and her essence leaking from within her depths.

A moment later he slipped out of her, flaccid and wet. She gasped what must have been a laugh before drinking from his mouth once more.

When they parted he leaned his forehead against hers, breathing her in and the reality that she had chosen him. A reality he still wasn’t fully certain he believed yet an honor he did not take lightly. He was but a bastard king who had nothing to offer and yet she chose him. He had no right, but he has chosen her, too. The Others take those who would come between them, he thought. They were going to win the war against the Night King and he would help her regain her birthright. 

Seeing his brows draw together in obvious thought, she showered his face with feather-light kisses. “None of that,” she chastised fondly, thumb caressing the faint scar bisecting his brow before running her thumb over his chapped, plump lips. Their eyes met, onyx on violet. “No brooding in my bed.”

A guttural chuckle rumbled in his chest, jostling her and making her grin in return.

“You will have to get used to my brooding, Dragon Queen,” he teased, tenderly tracing the curve of her jaw. She was the most beautiful woman to ever walk the world, he was certain.

“Hold me,” she chose to command in place of a witty retort.

A soft smile graced his comely face before he went to retrieve the fur blanket off of the floor. He pulled it over them as she pressed her backside against his front, using his muscled bicep as her pillow. His broad chest pressed against the length of her back, surrounding her with the strength and comfort of his presence.

She smelled of sex and lavender, he thought, eyes closed as he drew random patterns over her flesh. Their combined fluids permeated the air along with the scent of burning candles and the salty sea outside.

His cock stirred between them, causing desire to burn low in her belly.

Eyes closed, she sought his hand and laced their fingers together. She led their intertwined hands between her legs, eliciting a gasp from her noble northerner.

A finger boldly slid inside her with ease, her walls sore but eager for more pleasure, for more of him. In and out, he drew hums of pleasure from her lips, finger scraping the front wall of her cunt with dizzying pressure.

Another finger joined in and he made her come within seconds, his copious seed and her wetness soaking into the coverlet. With her body tight like a drawn bowstring, he suckled on her neck hard enough to mark her, enjoying the stuttered sighs that escaped her mouth.

His cock was hard once more, eager to plunge into her welcoming heat, but he was happy to just hold her in the aftermath of her release.

“Take me,” she encouraged, turning her head to steal a taste of his lips. He met her tongue for a moment before nudging his nose along the length of hers.

He declined her request with a gentle shake of his head, a small smile blooming on his lips. She’d seen him smile more times in the weeks aboard the ship than the many moons he’d stayed on Dragonstone. It made her heart full and hopeful in spite of the wars to come.

He knew she was sore, could tell by the way she had winced slightly as he pleased her with his fingers. He had already come inside her twice that night. He would let her body recover first. “Tomorrow,” he promised, lacing their fingers once more.

He slid their hands towards her womb, hoping she wouldn’t take offense. Briefly, he allowed himself to imagine her big and ripe with his child growing inside her.

The last thing he wanted was to put a bastard in her, but she would be the last person to allow any child of hers to be called and treated as such. And he would die before he allowed anyone to treat a child of his the way he was treated in his youth.

If the gods were listening to him, he prayed for them to grant Daenerys her heart’s desire. No one deserved a child more than the kind-hearted woman ensconced in his embrace.

His seed would never quicken, she noted with bitter finality, eyes squeezing shut as her heart rode the stabbing sensation of her cursed reality.

Feeling her start to retreat into herself, he drew her closer and tightened his arms around her small form.

“Never let me go, Jon Snow,” Daenerys whispered quietly, vulnerably.

Pressing his lips to her temple, Jon vowed, “Never, Dany.”


	9. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Jon talk about their fears and their future together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this was a drabble- lo and behold when I transferred it to Word from Apple Notes (I want to be able to jump from my Mac to my iPhone whenever the writing bug bit me) it was a oneshot in length. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy- this is more dialogue-y than my usual stuff, so your thoughts on this would be very very appreciated. Let me know if you think it was in-character or OOC. :)

No other woman in the realm could rival the beauty of his queen, Jon thought reverently. With her twinkling violet eyes and silver hair flowing between them like a stream bathed in moon glow, he knew such a woman should not exist let alone share his bed. Like her dragons she was majestic in her own right, he thought, captivated by the way her eyes seemingly alight from the fire cast by the bedside candle. 

Naked as their name days and under thick, warm furs, they faced one another, wrapped in a conversation that needed no words. Her cabin was heady with the smell of sex, lavender, burning candles, and the salty sea the boat was cutting across. 

A quiet breath escaped him as her fingers traced the outline of his deathblow, the scar Olly had left over his heart, pink and puckered. The pain of betrayal and physical agony alike easily returned at her touch, making him stiffen and then relax when her warmth seeped into his flesh. 

He did not know how she could be so tender when even he himself was disgusted not only at the way his wounds haven't scarred fully but more so the memory of what had driven his brothers to mutiny. 

"You didn't deserve this," she whispered, always hurt for him and what he had endured. She was not naive; she herself had experienced just how cruel this world could be, but it didn't mean she stopped dreaming of making it better. 

He opened his eyes to find her looking at him with fierce protectiveness and love in her steely lilac gaze. 

"Aye," he agreed in a low whisper. "Yet here I am, alive, and fighting a war I could only hope to win." 

" _We_ will win," she vowed, feeling his heart beat beneath her touch, valiantly attempting to transfer the hope and determination in hers. "Together."

He wanted to tell her the truth, of his wish to not have been brought back, to have stayed dead instead. 

On the brink of death he had never felt more alive for there was no joy- no _meaning_ left in living in the shit world they inhabited. Was there even any, at all? It was always the same vicious cycle over and over again- the wheel Daenerys sought to break. 

He had just wanted to stop fighting, stop killing- he had fought most his life in wars that were not his, wars he would rather have forgone had he the option. Regardless, honour bound him, until the day his sworn brothers took his life as payment for his alleged betrayal. 

He refrained from voicing these thoughts, these emotions swirling within him, because that would have entailed never having met her, never having known her or touch her and taste the sweetness of her lips and the intoxicating flavour of her essence. 

He would not have had the fortune and honour of knowing her, _loving_ her. 

Never having been brought back would have meant never feeling alive again, and that was how she made him feel. 

"Jon?" She stroked his cheek, shuffling closer so that their foreheads touched. 

"Together," he repeated instead, breathing her in, drawing strength from her seemingly limitless stores. 

More than the woman he has come to love, she had dragons and a hundred thousand under her command. She was the miracle he had prayed for and more. Without her they were well and truly fucked. Without her he would be lost, no more than an instrument to fight a war they could not possibly win.

Hand settling over hers he met her gaze, "You have no idea what you have come to mean to me, Dany." Their fingers tangled and he pressed their joined hands to his lips, trembling at the strength of how he felt for her. 

She felt the same, she wished to tell him, but recalling his words at the Pit, Daenerys asked in an almost shy whisper, "How am I different?"

A flatterer Jon Snow was not, and ever since the words had left his lips she had had the urge to ask him for his thoughts about her after having had the opportunity to get to know her more. She didn't know when she started needing his approval; of having the honour of being deemed deserving by someone honourable himself. 

The same, small smile that had graced his lips when he'd first said the words tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

Jon moved their joined hands over his heart and ran the tip of his nose along the length of hers, smiling before he looked her in the eye. "Your heart, My Queen," he rasped, "Your heart sets you apart from the people of this world. Frankly, it doesn't deserve you, yet you are who it needs most, now." 

Daenerys' gaze softened as she listened to him, not knowing how to explain the joy that squeezed her heart at his words. 

"You want your throne, it's true," he said, lips and whiskers soothing the slight sting his words visibly brought her as they grazed the skin over her thumb, "But you want to set things right- to help. To defend the defenceless. To bring peace and hope. To make this shit world better than how we came to know and live it."

Honoured by his words she moulded herself against the contours of his front, revelling in the warmth it brought her despite her inherent heat. 

"We will defeat the Night King, Jon," she promised, eyes closed as if in prayer as her face leaned close to his. "And we will relieve this world of Cersei's reign." 

He nodded, an arm curling around her waist to hold her against him, the fingers splaying over the small of her back. 

"And you will be my king," she whispered, a lace of hesitance in her tone as she pulled back to meet his grey eyes, almost onyx in the firelight, to gauge how he felt about that. If she was being presumptuous. 

He looked at her as though she were japing. His face was serious, but she could tell why it fell the way it did, and she cursed the system he grew up in and  the people who had mistreated him. 

Pressing her mouth to his she hoped she could take away his hesitance, but she was unsuccessful. 

When their lips parted, he was quick to remind her, ashamed,"I'm a bastard-"

"I'm the daughter of the Mad King. I'm-"

"Trueborn-"

"And you took me to bed anyway," she quietly chose to retort, hoping the turn she took would not lead them to an argument she did not seek, should he take her words differently. 

Shame filled his visage and her heart broke for him, an actual ache stabbing her heart. 

It was not a mistake, he thought to himself- he would not have done anything differently, but he still felt undeserving of her favour. Of her love. Of taking the seat next to her, should they emerge victors in this game of thrones. 

"I love you, Dany," he whispered, no doubt in his voice. "It is why we are here, now."

"You are more than what your birth decrees, Jon Snow," she chastised firmly, gripping his forearm, "And you are your people's chosen. You are a king. _My_ King."

"I have pledged the north to you, I'm no-"

"In my short lifetime I have lost count of the men who have decided to take upon themselves the right to determine what I do and do not deserve. If you hold any true love for me, respect that I know what is best for me."

The beginnings of a rare smile graced her northern fool's face as he sat up, their hands unclasping in the process. 

Forearms over his knees Jon craned his neck to look at her, his silver goddess rising to cloak him with the heat of her bare skin. 

"I would never take away your choice or your voice," Jon whispered, anchoring the hands she had wrapped around him over his heart, "But you should know what it could mean for you, choosing me." 

Daenerys' lips touched every inch of skin within her reach, unable to heal the scars of his youth yet trying anyway. 

Bowled over by affection he had scarcely felt in life, the boy he had killed to let the man be born resurfaced, if only for one small moment, allowing it to know what love felt like. 

"I love you, Jon, and it terrifies me," she whispered quietly behind him, ear now pressed over his spine. "Knowing you as I do now, and loving you in a time where love is as dangerous as it is empowering..." She trailed off, a lump lodging itself in her throat, preventing her from speaking further. 

"Aye," he nodded, understanding. It was the same fear that slithered up his spine every time he looked at her now, because it was her and his family he stood to lose. Two wars, and the first almost impossible to win. 

"Come here," Jon repositioned her so she was straddling him. Ignoring the desire bubbling in the pit of his stomach at her proximity he held her face to his and vowed, "I will marry you at Winterfell, Daenerys Targaryen, if you will have me."

Beautifully overcome by his proposal of marriage all she could do was nod and claim his lips fiercely, drinking from his mouth love she had never truly known until he'd shown her. Until _he_ loved her.

His name left her lips in an amorous sigh, urging him to take her and make her forget the nightmare they would soon be living. 

One hand smoothed down her silken back until it cupped the curve of her arse while the other supported her neck as he laid her on her back and under him. 

"Dany." A thrust against her made her moan, anticipation drenching her core and pulling her nipples taut. She was still full of his seed from their earlier tryst, but she wanted nothing more than to have him again. Nails raked his back, encouraging, pulling him closer, wanting him inside her. 

The dizzying suction of his mouth on her neck slackened her jaw, drawing her lips apart, and making her eyes screw shut. One hand went up to card through his raven hair. 

"I want you in me, Jon," she pleaded, body thrumming and throbbing with the need to be taken and filled by him alone. "Please."

He could never deny her anything, so he allowed her to grasp him, stroke him from root to tip, and guide him into the waiting, scalding heat of her cunt. 

Inch by inch he disappeared within her depths, surrounded by her warmth, watching emotions flitter through her face and her enchanting amethyst eyes as they became one. 

A sharp gasp tore past her parted lips as he hit the end of her, sheathed himself inside her fully, her nails digging into his flesh at the painfully pleasurable sting. 

One of his hands lodged itself between her back and the bed, angling her to receive him better, so his cock could scrape the spot that drove her mad and over the edge. 

Daenerys arched her hips to get him to move, eager for him to move faster, to take her harder, to rut into her in reckless abandon. 

Her impatience was endearing, tearing him between a fond smile and a smirk. Choosing wisely he instead decided to put his mouth to good use by reclaiming her lips as he withdrew only to drive his hips back into the cradle of hers. 

Giving her the intensity she craved, he succumbed into his most primal urges, giving into how he wanted to fuck her, hard and fast and unyielding, until he brought her to her climax. 

An insidious voice in his mind reminded him of the cruelty of their circumstance, that they may not have this for long, but he pushed it away, reminding himself that he was having all of her _now_ , was having her _at all_. The thought made him roll his hips hard, desperately seeking solace in her heat in the hope the answers to his fears and deepest desires could be found between her legs and in her arms. 

Daenerys cried out at the force, pleasure and pain singing through her being, his thrusts driving her closer and closer to release. His breath was heavy at her ear, face turned towards her, eyes screwed shut- it was a sight to behold. 

Calling his name in a desperate moan, she asked him to look at her, asked him to come, asked him to drown her with his seed in hopes of it taking root. She wished she could give him that, only recently realizing just how much she wished she could give him a son or a daughter. He was hopeful, she was not, and thankful she was that one of them had any hope at all. 

The thought had her gasping as though she’d been punched. The sound was not lost to Jon who stopped moving altogether in favour of cradling her face, her eyes now pooling with tears. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, voice laced with a concern she did not feel she deserved.  

The question made her choke out a bitter laugh even as she shook her head, confusing him. She wished that was the case for she was certain it would have hurt less than being barren. Being hurt was a temporary state, her barrenness was not. 

“What’s wrong?” His brows were drawn together, eyes telling of his efforts to read whatever was going through her mind. 

Reaching up she smoothed them as he wiped her tears away. She stroked his beard, finding comfort at the gesture. He leaned into her touch, eyes never straying from her gaze. 

“Why would you marry a barren queen, Jon Snow?” she could not help but ask, a soul-deep sadness in the whisper that left her lips. A quiet gasp escaped her as he pulled out, cock still hard as it settled over her stomach, coated in their combined fluids. 

“Because I love her.” The pad of his thumb brushed at another errant tear that fell from her haunted eyes. “Whether or not she could bear a child.” 

“And I am more than happy to fuck you until I prove that maegi wrong and you grow plump and ripe with our child,” he added teasingly, almost shyly, praying to be rewarded even the smallest of smiles from her perfectly ravaged lips so he knows that he neither offended nor hurt her with those words. 

The pad of his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, mesmerized by the burn of his whiskers on her soft skin.

Regardless of her love for him, she still had walls around her heart as thick as dragon hide, but with his words they crumbled, replaced instead with a hope she was still reluctant to have fill her heart. 

She might not have smiled, but the hope that flittered through her violet eyes told him he had succeeded in lifting her spirits even just a fraction. 

Her hand slid from his face to his chest, the light sprinkle of hair tickling her palms. Their foreheads touched and she sighed, simply grateful for having him.

When sadness faded need resurfaced, and she smiled wickedly at him as her hands started roaming. One hand settled over his hip to pull him closer while the other gripped him and guided him inside her so they could pick up where they left off.  

With a playful glint in her eye, she rolled her hips and seductively told him, “You better get to work , my love.”


	10. My Dreams Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany share a tender moment, after the wars have been won, and order has been restored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired to finish this drabble I started a while ago in time for my birthday. :) It's kinda sweet, so I hope you get a toothache but love it anyway.

“What are we doing?” Daenerys smiled up at Jon ever so sweetly, amethyst eyes twinkling as her most expressive brows drew together in an endearing mixture of curiosity and amusement. 

Slowly, quietly, they swept across their solar, her husband leading their movements. 

“Dancing, My Queen.” The fond gleam in his onyx gaze warming her up in a way the furs that had been draped over her shoulders at supper could not. 

She was thankful he didn’t ask if she knew how, simply just wrapped his arms around her when she found him and started swaying them to the slow beating of their hearts. One hand around him and the other laced with his and settled over his heart, she was more than happy to indulge in the moment, knowing the future was brighter than ever; their wars were won. 

The soft rumble in his chest from his humming soothed her and the babe growing in her womb. It had been moving around at supper, but at the sound of its father it settled, magically lulled to rest. 

“I think our babe approves of your singing, my love,” she teased, peace unlike any she has ever felt before settling into her very soul when Jon stopped their swaying momentarily to cup the heavy swell of her stomach with a tenderness that nearly brought tears to her eyes. 

Jon pressed his lips over his wife’s protruding belly, an easy, awed smile on his lips. 

“Good girl,” he whispered conspiratorially, knowing how challenging it has become for his wife to get around when their babe was being active, no matter how much she waved it off.

A sweet laugh left her at his presumption- the thought of a raven-locked girl with her father’s eyes… the thought lifted her spirits to heights farther than what her winged sons could reach. 

“A girl you wish for but you might regret it when she becomes a woman grown, with suitors at the gates asking you for her hand.” 

“A lad then,” Jon grumbled, scowling at the picture her words painted.

"We will see,” Daenerys hummed, encouraging him to lead her back into their dance, smiling fondly all the while. 

It will be a girl, just as he wanted, she knew. He would be surrounded by them.

She has always known she was no ordinary woman.

_My dreams come true._


	11. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys laments how fast her little wolf is growing, so she decides to take in every single moment she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh and Jon's here, too... being a delicious distraction. Who wants more Targling drabbles? Raise 'em hands!

“Dany?” Jon called out quietly, careful to not rouse their babe sleeping in the ornate cradle his wife stood against. 

The moon bathed Daenerys in its light, casting an unearthly glow to her already ethereal features.

A sweet hum was her only response, bringing a small smile to his lips. No matter how tiring his day, the melodious sound of her voice wiped away his weariness and stress. 

He sighed in content as he cloaked her with his body, their arms intertwining as they took in the sight of their babe sleeping so soundly, thumb in her mouth. 

Daenerys shivered at the scrape of his beard on her neck, desire bubbling in the pit of her stomach. It was never waning, her need for him. On the contrary, it only grew stronger with every day.  

Nuzzling her neck and taking in the fresh scent of her, he rasped, “Come to bed, my love.”

She tilted her head further to the side, allowing him to roam and abrade her skin freely as she said, “In a moment.”

“Our little dragon is guarded by none other than her brothers. I fear the fate of any man who even thinks to do her harm,” Jon stated, palm reverently cupping her breast and squeezing it gently. Transfixed and aroused, he watched as wetness spread through the sheer fabric of her nightgown, the whiteness of the milk that fed their daughter seeping through. “It also settles my mind and heart, knowing she has the best of the Kingsguard watching over her.”

There was nothing she wanted more than to have him between her legs and inside her to the hilt, to feel him claim her over and over again, to feel his seed drown her womb, but with a strength she did not know she had she settled a hand over the one possessively holding her breast captive and tenderly pulled it away, tilting her head to the side to kiss his lips to soften the blow of her momentary rejection of his advances. 

She wanted to take in the life they had made and she had miraculously brought into the world, just for a moment, for she felt every time she blinked her little wolf just grew bigger and bigger. There was not a moment she would miss, she vowed, not if she could help it, not while she drew breath. The gift of bringing life into the world, the gift of a child itself, it was one thing she would never take for granted, because for the longest time she never thought she would be able to even bear her own again after the first lost to her. 

Through the wars, she had carried his child within her, worried and wracked by fear that she would have a second child she would never meet. Bound by duty to protect her people and ensure their survival, she could not just sit aside and let the world burn because she was pregnant. 

Through the wars they worried and fought and feared and continued to fight, but after the wars were won, despite their spoils of ash and a broken kingdom, hope blossomed with spring’s arrival. Months later, the arrival of an heir of her and his blood secured their reign even more, allowing them to rebuild from the ashes of death and destruction and restore peace in what was once a war-torn and impoverished continent. They needed to build a better world for their people, for their _daughter_.

“She’s growing too fast,” Daenerys lamented, knowing that it was the way of the world but lamenting the fast passing of time nonetheless. Only a handful of moons ago she was but a small, fragile bundle in her arms, pink and wailing against her sweat-slickened flesh, bathed in the metallic stench of blood and her fluids. But she was healthy and she was beautiful, and it was everything Daenerys had prayed for. In the next days, weeks, and moons, until today, she smelled of the sweetest lemon cakes and the early morning sun upon her skin.

Understanding how she felt and feeling the same, Jon nodded, squeezing her arms lovingly. “I know. Soon I would need to have her guards shove off any green boy who approaches her. I might even have to do it myself, should any have the gall to ask me for her hand.”

His words made her chuckle, her heart clenching with such happiness she feared it would burst.

His arms fell from her form as she bent forward, kissing their daughter and quietly wishing her the sweetest dreams. A quiet breath left Rhaella’s lips and Daenerys brushed the downy silver curls from her head, basking in the softness. She would have to wait until tomorrow to drown in her daughter’s eyes, which were a beautiful reflection of her father’s. 

“That would be a sight,” she told Jon, addressing his previous words, smiling hopefully at the thought that their daughter would not have to experience any of the tragedies she and Jon have had to endure in their youth. “Alas,” she turned in his arms, her hands draping over his shoulders playfully as her hips pressed against his teasingly, “That will not be for many years to come, and I have hope that I might give you more than one child to worry about yet.”

There was a fire in her husband’s eyes that ignited hers, desire tempting her to take him right then and there in their daughter’s chambers but she collected herself and took his hand to drag him into their own. 

He bolted the door shut and cornered her between it and himself, his hands already pulling at her nightgown as he kissed her thoroughly.

When their lips parted he laved at the pulse in her neck and whispered a most arousing question against her ear, biting it gently after. 

“How many more, my queen?" 

"As many as you can put in me, my king.”


	12. Dragon Dreams I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys Targaryen did not believe Jon Snow until it was too late. The night before the raven from Eastwatch arrived, she dreams of the Night King and his swarm of dead men risen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just came to me. I just thought... there should be a reason Daenerys suddenly flies off to rescue Jon & Co. when she doesn't fully believe it's true. There was the cave, but, you know... This will be an alternate take of Jon's return to Eastwatch, too.

Water filled her lungs as the icy waters welcomed her, drawing her and Jon Snow into the dark depths of the lake.

She was on Drogon, eyes locking with the monster in Jon's tale, and then she wasn't. She was sinking with him. Subjected to the haunting sight of him struggling, drowning, she lamented being unable to aid him, unable to keep him alive.

Rotting corpses, _living corpses_ , sank around them, unable to swim, unable to resurface, what remained of their limbs flailing mindlessly. A sudden flash of memory brought them to light in her mind, these frightening beings brought back by an ancient force they could only hope to defeat. Briefly, she wondered if they would remain that way for eternity, wondered if water could kill them just like dragon glass and dragon fire, as she had seen. They continued sinking until they disappeared into the bowels of the lake, leaving her and the noble King in the North to die without them being the last things they saw. Perhaps that was something to be thankful for. Perhaps death would be easier than rebuilding a broken world.

Time froze and her heart grew as cold as the icy waters that engulfed her, nothing but a helpless spectator in his impending death, her chest collapsing in on itself as she painfully watched the last vestiges of air within him flee his mouth, the pockets of air escaping his lips, struggling just as he was to resurface.

She reached for him, wanting to help, wanting to save him, and he extended a hand but in the blink of an eye he stopped moving, started to float upward, and she knew he was gone, knew it was too late. 

She tried to swim towards him, see if she could save him somehow, pull him back up onto the surface, but no, she was frozen, forced to endure the tormenting sight of his very death.

There might have been tears in her eyes if she were notsubmerged, from heartbreak, grief, or the loss of an ally, she would never know, for she would not have the opportunity to fully know him.

Dead.

He was dead. Lady Olenna. Ellaria. The Sand Snakes. Yara.

All dead.

How many more was Tyrion to lead into slaughter with his clever plans? How many more of those plans could she allow? How much longer can she relent, to not do anything? 

How could she hope to be Queen when those closest toher, those who have pledged their loyalty to her, she could not protect?

The sensation of being watched pulled her from her thoughts and a scream tore at the back of her throat when she looked back at Jon only to find his once onyx eyes now an unearthly, emotionless blue.

He swam towards her with a speed that was not human, an impossible, ear-piercing shriek escaping his mangled jaw even under water. His hands wrapped around her neck, the strength of his grip crushing her windpipe as those blue eyes connected with hers, conveying the power of his master, of the Night King and his army.

Waking with a start, Daenerys clutched at her heart, eyes clenching shut as she attempted to calm herself.

It was but a nightmare, nothing more.

But her dreams come true, so when that fateful morning a raven arrived with a scroll beseeching her to aid a band of men beyond the Wall, she wordlessly prepared herself for the journey, Tyrion hot on her heels, advising her to let the only ally she had left die.

He was her Hand and she valued his advice, but she cannot do _nothing_ again.

Mounting Drogon, she set off, flanked by Rhaegal and Viserion.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be away from home this Saturday, so you'll probs get the 2nd part this Sunday. :) I didn't want to write this under a new story yet, because really, 600 words? I'd feel so bad about that. I used to do 18K word oneshots (lol, yes, oneshots). 
> 
> Aaanyway, let me know if y'all are interested in reading how this turns out. Otherwise, I'll just let this stand alone, because it kinda can.


	13. A Wolf's Blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys is confronted by Arya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly Arya POV. I've never written/read Arya before, so do let me know your thoughts re: characterisation. :)

“Do you love him, my brother?”

“A keen eye you have kept on me the very second we met, Arya Stark. What have you seen since?” It was the calmest question anyone has ever asked her, even with her palm resting over the dragonbone hilt of her dagger.

Never had she been one to look away first, but the small, relaxed smile that suddenly kissed the Dragon Queen’s lips gave her pause, memories of past betrayals reminding her that what her eyes could see may not always be the truth of the matter. People had many faces.

She’s only just been reunited with Jon and here was a woman who could easily take him away, hurt him easily if she wanted to. A beautiful woman- a _Targaryen queen_ with dragons and armies- formidable as she was gentle. At least for now, Arya thought bitterly, until her claws came out and her maw opened to burn her home and those she loved to ashes.

To add insult to injury, Ghost breezed past her to settle at Daenerys’ feet, Jon’s direwolf nuzzling at her hand for a petting, the bloody traitor ignoring her presence completely.

Arya watched as he whined contently at the feel of fingers scratching at his jaw and neck and the back of his ear. When the queen stopped Ghost accepted that he would need to wait before more attention could be bestowed upon him and laid down on the floor, red eyes looking up at her as if questioning what on seven hells she was worked up about.

Oh how she missed Nymeria, she thought, a fleeting pang in her heart making her flinch.

Unworldly violet eyes pierced her own steely gaze and she looked away, clenching her jaw and tightening her grip around the dagger’s hilt at the sudden vulnerability she’d allowed to cross her features.

Composing herself, Arya shook her head and somberly stated, “Jon had not had the best childhood-”

“I know,” Daenerys nodded solemnly.

_Neither did I_ , Arya wanted to add, but that mattered little on the topic at hand. Her chest constricted at the memory of Jon's content with what little he’d been given- believing he was even luckier than most- due to the circumstances of his birth.

“I believe none of us did,” she whispered.

A moment passed between them and Arya slightly deflated, prompting Daenerys to once more ask her, “What say you of the things you’ve observed between Jon and I?”

“I see how much he…” trailing off, Arya looked away before fixing her gaze to the woman who’s stolen her brother’s heart once more. “I see a look I’ve never seen him give anyone in the past. I want it to stay. If it is no trouble to you.”

_It never could be_ , Daenerys wanted to say. Briefly she pondered telling Arya she was not the first woman her brother had loved, but it was not her story to share, so she instead nodded at the youngest she-wolf of Winterfell. “I do endeavour to make him as happy as he makes me,” she acknowledged, smiling almost sheepishly at Jon’s overprotective youngest sister.

[ ](https://tmblr.co/Z-yQ2y2ZGBEC7)

“You love him.” It was a statement. Again, a firm nod was all Arya received but this time a brighter twinkle in the queen’s eyes confirmed what she already knew- that love had found her as it has her brother, bringing the dragon and the white wolf together.

They maintained their gaze for what seemed like an eternity before Arya finally nodded in return, accepting what has come to pass.

“If you betray him, the north will remember. _I_ will remember.”

“Without a doubt we will hurt one another once in a while,” Daenerys smiled sadly, knowing the dark times ahead and the decisions she and Jon will have to make and undoubtedly argue about. “But betrayal has always been something I have been on the receiving end of, so you need not worry in that regard.”

“Good.”

Feeling lighter from their conversation and at seemingly receiving the closest thing to a blessing from this young Stark, Daenerys stood and smiled slyly at Arya whose eyebrow rose in curiosity.

“So, Lady Stark,” Daenerys started teasingly, knowing it riled her up.

If possible, the raised brow rose higher, making Daenerys’ smile widen as she invited, “Would you like to meet my sons?”

“Your _sons_?” Confusion laced the last word, doubt and suspicion clouding the young wolf’s face.

“Yes,” the queen said proudly, walking ahead towards the door.

Hand pulling it open, she looked back at Arya with a playful smile on her lips and a mischievous glint in her eyes and clarified, “My dragons.”


	14. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon goes looking for a missing dragon longing for her mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of Jon + Targling fluff.

Worry stabbed at him every single damn time she disappeared on her guards. She was like Arya in that regard: mischievous, stealthy, and too clever for her age. He adored her for it yet he knew it would one day be the death of him and her mother.

Thank the gods, he had recently discovered where she ran off to whenever she was of a certain mood: her brothers’ perch, where the ruins of the Pit had once stood.

A year into their established rule they had decided to tear everything down and offer the plot of land to Drogon and Rhaegal who have since made a home of it whenever they were not hunting.

Jon made his way to the area, hoping his little dragon hadn’t chosen a new place to wander off to.

Relief washed over him when he found her curled up against Drogon’s side, his massive wing protectively shielding her tiny form from the biting winds blowing through the city.

“Rhaella,” he whispered, approaching her after saying his quiet greetings to the dragons, their affectionate clicking sounds making him let out a small smile. He shook his head as he recalled Daenerys’ choice to have Drogon fly back to guard his sister even though Rhaegal was there. Storm’s End and its new inhabitants were fiercely loyal to the crown, and Gendry would never let anything happen to his distant relative. Knowing that put his mind and heart at ease somewhat.

“I miss Mama,” his little dragon pouted, apparently not asleep, tears pooling at the corners of her dark eyes. Daenerys loved them, she’d told him one night; they gleamed as dark an onyx as his did, reminding her of him whenever she looked into their daughter’s eyes.

With silver hair like her mother’s, she glowed like the moon itself as she sat up and raised her arms towards him, a silent plea to wrap her up in his embrace, to comfort her in her longing to have her mother back.

He was more than happy to oblige, knowing the sadness in her heart. “She will be back soon,” Jon whispered, lifting her into his arms.

“She’s just with Aunt Arya right now, to welcome your new cousin.” He pulled her to his chest, hoping he could settle the ache in his daughter’s heart. With a deep sigh he pressed his lips to the crown of Rhaella’s head, smiling softly when she let out another sigh of her own.

Dany would be back soon, he reminded himself.

They remained locked in an embrace for gods knew how long until his daughter leaned back and cupped his cheeks. “How many more sleeps, Papa?”

“5 more, my sweetling,” he told her, holding up a hand, the tip of his forefinger tapping her nose and making her giggle. “5 more and she shall return to us.”

She smiled as bright as the sun then, assured of her mother’s imminent return to them. Much like Daenerys’ habit she allowed his short-trimmed beard to scratch her palms for a bit before settling into his embrace once more.

Jon watched as Daenerys’ winged sons spread their wings and flew off, Jon started making his way back to the keep, Rhaella burrowing her face in the space where his neck and shoulder met. One of her hands toyed with an errant lock of hair at his nape while his ran along her back in soothing circles.

“So, my princess,” he whispered conspiratorially, “What say you about lemon cakes for supper?”

“Mama will not allow it until after I’ve eaten,” she whispered back.

With a guttural chuckle Jon kissed his daughter’s cheek, telling her, “Mama is not here. And I’m sure she wouldn’t mind it this once.”


	15. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys simply wanted order as she and her family sat down for their first commissioned family portrait, was that too much to ask?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stared too long at this wonderful artwork and a story of how it came to be suddenly sprung forth. 
> 
> Artwork as seen below, link to the original post included.
> 
> With Kwonbomi's blessing, I give you this fluffy AF oneshot based on her Targaryen family artwork. I hope I did it justice.

[ ](http://kwonbomi.tumblr.com/post/178669548002/this-one-is-for-ktwrites-she-won-one-of-my-3)

"Gather round," Daenerys called out, her blood red dress sweeping about her fluidly as she moved, sitting on the chair placed for her, a gurgling Aemon in her arms.

Behind them was a wall stripped of any finery, Jon’s crown and her own the only symbols that stood out.

"Rhaella, dearest, stay close to Papa, right there," she instructed her eldest, gently guiding her by the arm.

Looking at her eldest boy, she smirked, watching him squirm impatiently. Ensuring Aemon was secure in her right arm and against her breast, she guided Ned as well. "Ned, please stand right here, my sweetling, right next to Mama."

She glanced at her family and smiled happily, already eager to see the outcome of the portrait though Tyrion had said it may take a moon, and not until after a few more weekly sittings before she could see the final product. 

Glancing at Aemon she beamed, curious eyes exactly like hers staring right back. Thank the gods he'd had a good night's sleep, she thought, his outlook perfect for the day's most important task: sitting for their family portrait.

She had never had one done. Not even in Meereen had she thought of commissioning her own portrait. It was about a moon ago, over supper, that Tyrion had suggested it. It took but days for her to request he introduce her to any artists of note, so that she can make a decision. "The children will not always be children," he'd said, adding that it would be something she and Jon can look upon fondly in the years to come.

"I don't understand why this is necessary," Jon suddenly grunted, burdened by his clothing and the bloody crown digging into his flesh. "This reminds me why being a bast-" he shut his mouth before the word fully escaped, internally chastising himself because both Rhaella and Ned had looked up at him, waiting for him to finish his statement, always eager to learn from him and Dany. When he said nothing else, brows raised and heads tilted to the side curiously, much like their dragons, before turning away. He was smart enough to avoid his dear wife's gaze, eyes instead on the artist who was taking his sweet time setting everything up.

Daenerys glared at Jon, her incandescent joy flickering from annoyance at her husband's grumbling and the word he'd almost said aloud.

They had argued to the ends of Westeros over this portrait, but she'd easily won him over with the promise of- well, it was more a threat of _withholding_ _herself_ from him. It was a ridiculous threat she’d made, laughable even, for she herself wouldn't last more than a day without having him.

It did not help that Eddard was already staring daggers at the kind artist they've commissioned, grumbling about having to stand there when he could be practicing his swordsmanship with his father.

Looking at her sweet princess though, her stress melted away, her little girl already smiling gracefully, hands behind her back.

"How do I look, Mama?" Rhaella suddenly turned to her and asked, the most beautiful and innocent eyes she's gazed upon shining with a burning need of her approval.

It was like standing before a looking glass, Daenerys thought, her heart skipping a beat. "You are the moon itself, my silver wolf," she breathed, a smile kissing her lips as Rhaella glowed from her praise, the apples of her cheeks blushing furiously.

“Papa, did you hear what Mama said?”

Looking up at her husband, Daenerys met his eyes and he smiled that wonderfully infectious smile of his and offered it freely to their daughter, nodding as he set a hand on their daughter’s shoulder, squeezing gently, affectionately. He did not wish to ruin her hair by ruffling it the way he had used to do with Arya.

“You look just like your mother,” Jon told her softly, laughing a little as tiny arms did their best to wrap around his midsection. Looking back down at his wife, Jon smiled, loving the utterly content and pleased expression on her face.

"Apologies for the wait, my King, my Queen," the artist suddenly spoke, bowing before looking up and giving them a friendly smile. "If Your Graces will permit, I would like to be able to be up close from time to time, so that I may learn your faces and paint in accuracy. I would like for you to always be able to jump back in time to this moment. Should you feel you need a break, you need only ask."

Daenerys nodded, already picturing herself many years down the line, looking at this painting fondly.

Turning, the artist plucked a blue rose from the vase on his table and handed it to Rhaella, her daughter accepting it shyly, thanking the artist.

"Mama, how long must I stand still?" Ned sighed, already sounding exhausted by doing nothing, and they'd only just arrived.

Her poor boy was not used to being idle, which she was thankful for, truly, but at the moment it was definitely not an advantage. She bent forward and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, smirking as he huffed and shook his head. He loved her attentions, but he was growing too fast, too soon, thinking himself almost a man-grown and that his mother should not shower him with kisses in front of others who were not family.

"Eddard," Jon was quick to warn, the use of Ned's given name making his shoulders sag and his mouth frown guiltily as he looked back at his mother.

"I did not mean to be rude, Mama, forgive me," Ned mumbled, adding, "I only wish to continue training with Papa."

Daenerys shook her head, telling him there was nothing to apologise for. She drew him closer by cupping his chin, her lips planting a kiss to his temple before tucking a stray lock of silver hair behind his ear.

"We won't have time to train after this, Ned," Jon told him, giving his son a small, apologetic smile. "Tomorrow, after your lessons with Missandei, I promise."

The apple definitely did not fall far from the tree, where her and Jon's eldest boy was concerned. Had he his father's hair, they would be exact copies at that moment, the expressions on their faces simply put upon. She would have laughed if she didn't know it would only irk father and son further.

"You better get used to sitting for portraits, my love," Daenerys chided, looking up from Aemon's toothless babbling to her husband's brooding face.

Without waiting for him to ask her why, she said, "If I love it, we will be doing it more often. And I don't plan on Aemon being our last child, so I would want one done every time our family grows."

* * *

 It was even more beautiful than Daenerys had expected it to be.

She loved it. Upon seeing their family portrait, a moon and a fortnight later, Daenerys had needed a moment to collect herself, making the artist nervous though she assured him his work was nothing short of magical. His compensation for a magnificent job was staggering, and he had cried and protested that he wouldn’t be able to accept such a boon. He was waved off and dismissed with a warm smile, many thanks, and the promise of more commissions in the future.

She and Jon have yet to decide where they wanted to hang the painting, but she had a few ideas in mind.

The artist's words from their first sitting rang true... the painting did bring her back to the days where they'd sat as a family to get their portrait done. All the grumbles and smiles and sighs and so much more. Nothing out of sorts, no detail spared, but nothing unnecessary added or enhanced. It was just absolute perfection.

The painting showed nothing but their true selves on the days that they had sat, colours and brush strokes telling the story of how Jon had only done it for her, of how Rhaella loved every moment of every sitting until she tired towards the end from standing too still, of how Aemon was simply content in her arms throughout the oft-times exhausting sessions, and of how Ned was simply too preoccupied with thoughts of other things he could be doing, but being the good, responsible prince that he was, obediently stood still.

It thrilled her that Rhaella absolutely loved the painting. It also made her and Jon laugh how, after seeing his raised brows and his lips in a thin line, Ned had promised them he would be less impatient for their next one.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist and Daenerys smiled, allowing her weight to fall against her husband's chest.

Never one to miss an opportunity to nuzzle her like the wolf he was, he buried his nose where her neck and shoulder met, kissing whatever exposed skin he could reach.

"Do you like it, the painting?" she breathed, worrying her lip as they stood before the large work of art.

The first visual record of their family. Of the House they have restored from the ashes of the old, corrupted Westeros.

Jon swallowed thickly, taking in the wife and children he never thought he would have. The family he didn't know he wanted. Stupid fool, he was, having thought that way back then.

Rhaella was simply perfect, Ned made him want to roar with laughter, and Aemon was simply precious- his little dragons, his own children. His pack.

Taking in the pride and joy in not only Dany's face but her mesmerizing eyes, Jon was at a loss for words. It did not help that he was not the best with them either. There was no word that came to mind to describe how he saw Daenerys in the portrait. Surrounded by the children she bore him, powerful and yet soft, the wolf within him roared for the moon of his life, his chest swelling with such happiness he feared he might explode.

"Jon?" blunt nails scratched at his forearm, her voice melodious as she pulled him from his thoughts.

"Yes," he answered in a fleeting breath, pressing his mouth to her temple the way he remembered her do to Ned as he fixed his gaze at the portrait once more.

Daenerys turned her head to him and smiled brightly when he looked back down, amethyst eyes swimming with unshed tears as her happiness was bared to him.

Jon kissed her- there was nothing else he could have done.

When they parted, she tucked her head under his chin.

"I believe promises were made for me to stand for that bloody portrait," he mumbled suddenly, nibbling playfully on her pulse.

"Yes," she hummed, hands running along the expanse of the arms wrapped around her.

"What are we to do, Dany?" he rasped against her heated skin, peppering kisses along the curve of her jaw and right behind her ear.

"Take me to bed, Jon," Daenerys whispered, smiling seductively as she turned and anchored her arms behind his neck. "I would hate for you to stand any longer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for love, kind words, constructive criticism, please hit me with your best shot. <3 
> 
> I also have a two-shot coming up on Friday, so stay tuned!


	16. Drunk in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was almost stupid, growing closer and loving one another even further as the great battle against the dead drew closer, but so lost were they in the feel of one another that it hardly mattered. If they were to die, let it not be without any semblance of happiness towards the end. They will take what they could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by LadyofDragonstone: A fic where Jon & Dany are awake bordeing on sleepy and neither one is talking - just post coital cuddling in the dark and being intimate and cute. 
> 
> This is no fic, but t'is a drabble! And there is still talking, I'm afraid, because I can't help myself, but either way I hope you enjooooy!

It felt selfish and inappropriate, being drunk in love amidst the horrors they were about to face, yet Daenerys could not think of a better way to spend her nights than to be with Jon, sweating and sated.

There was only so much planning they could do- and worrying about it all seemed counterproductive.

A nuzzle against her neck shifted her thoughts back to Jon, remembering how he had spent himself inside her, trailing a mixture of both their fluids between her thighs when he had slipped out. Absolutely wrecked, she was, her chest flushed pink and a fine sheen of sweat coating her.

It was useless, wishing his seed would take root. She was barren. She could neither give him sons nor daughters.

Only herself, if she would be enough.

A soft smile touched her lips as he playfully latched on her pulse, nipping and sucking and laving at her skin, unaware of the sudden sadness that had taken hold of her.

“Stop thinking,” he whispered against the shell of her ear, his voice almost honeyed, laced with drowsiness though he fought to stay awake.

Each night drew the dead closer to Winterfell’s gates.

“How can I not?” Daenerys lazily hummed, her fingers carding through the softest mop of hair she’s ever touched.

“Have I not tired you enough to put you down for the night, my Queen?” She smiled softly at his teasing, grateful for it.

It has been a habit as of late, fucking until their bones felt they had turned to liquid and their minds were left peacefully blank and unburdened, easing them both into a restful slumber in the afterglow.

“On the contrary, I’m just about ready to sleep,” Daenerys answered, tilting her head so that she might fuse their lips once more. He was more than happy to oblige, introducing his tongue to hers, beckoning it into his mouth.

Jon hummed, his chest rumbling and vibrating hers in turn.

“We must sleep, Dany,” Jon whispred, serious now.

“Then hold me, Jon,” she requested. With his arms around her she found that it helped lull her to sleep better.

Neither slept.

Awake but quiet they continued touching one another, tender caresses in the dead of night helping comfort them for what awaited them when they woke.

Laying her head over his heart she sought his heartbeat, a palm splaying against his skin right next to her face, her thumb tracing the outline of one of his many scars.

Another small smile kissed her lips when his pressed against the crown of her head, feeling him inhale her scent, his talented fingers weaving through her silver mane.

When they settled, Jon brought a hand up to take the one over his heart, allowing their fingers to tangle, to trace, to simply _touch_.

Daenerys watched as her own fingers followed the trail of veins bulging from beneath his skin, the small act itself slowly setting her ablaze with desire again.

Tilting her head to gaze upon him her heart constricted. Would that she’d met him earlier, would that they survived these wars, she would have had more time to know him. _Love_ him.

Alas, there was no use in wishing.

They would have to fight the impossible fight against the Night King and his army and the war with the Mad Lannister.

The only acceptable outcome was victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st chapter of my Boatsex Rendition is now up as well. Go check it out, it's called: Forged in Fire and Ice. :)


	17. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow, her husband's element. Oh, how she vividly remembered the horrors of the last winter. Her ears rang from the screams of the dead and that of the dying. There was peace, now, and they had survived their wars, but snow would always bring her these memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for CallMeDewitt, who gave me the prompt "Seeing snow for the first time peacefully." 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the feels! <3 
> 
> You know the drill, tell me your thoughts and I shall love y'all forever. :)

Parting the thick crimson drapes, the first thing Daenerys noticed was that everything had turned white over night.

Snow.

[ ](https://tmblr.co/Zz9VOm2PT0ZYU)

Almost immediately, her insides churned with the memories of years past, of wars that have severely reduced the populace and haunted their nights though victorious they had emerged.

Hollow blue eyes and mindless screams assaulted her as she eyed the blanket of snow that has covered the ramparts near the tower they now called home.

In the blink of an eye warm blood splattered over the pristine ice and the sudden memory of almost losing Jon as he had struck the Night King through the heart while he himself was stabbed threatened to choke her, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

“Dany.”

Swiftly, his voice and the feel of his warm hands on her skin shook her from the trance, the snow unmarred as she looked back at the spot.

The press of his lips on her shoulder eased the rapid beating of her heart, reminding her that he had survived. He was here.

Many years ago they triumphed over the dead and there was peace now.

It was all that mattered.

Sighing, Daenerys turned her head so that she may fuse their lips, needing to breathe him in, feel his life imbue her with the strength to forget the horrors of the wars they had fought.

Her king easily acquiesced, knowing what it was she needed at that moment.

Jon held her, anchoring her to the ground on which they stood, keeping her thoughts only filled with him and the love they had found in one another. The life they’d made together. The children they now had.

“They’re gone, Dany,” Jon breathed against her lips when they parted, his thumb wiping away a tear that just about fell. “Nightmares are all they could ever be again.”

“I know.” She knew winter would come again; she just wasn’t eager to see it too soon. The beauty of spring, summer, and fall were all she needed. Snow was her husband’s element, and it was true that there was beauty to be found in its icy glory, but she was not fond of it for all they had suffered during the Great War.

Turning in his arms, Daenerys’ palm slid up to where the gaping scar from the Night King’s blow marked his breast.

There have been so many times she’d almost lost this man, she thought, pressing her eyes together for even that was too hard for her to think about.

“I know,” she said once more before the pads of her fingers traced the outline of the silvering scar. His heart beat steadily, strongly.

“They will never come back,” Jon added, pulling her against his chest and running his hand in soothing circles on her back. “We saw the Night King shatter into a thousand fragments. Bran had said for certain that we are free of them, for eternity.”

Nodding against his shoulder, Daenerys sighed.

“I wish I had been introduced to snow in more agreeable circumstances,” she japed dryly, hands and arms coming up to dangle behind his neck as she pulled back from their embrace, terrible memories slowly fading as the warmth of his naked skin pressed against her thin shift.

[ ](https://tmblr.co/ZPr-Cx2YzgYPF)

“I do admit our first meeting was not the best,” Jon retorted, a playful pout on his lips as his fingers pulled the thin strap of her night dress to the side. When he did the same to the other strap, the fabric shielding her body pooled around her feet and bared her to his hungry gaze.

The look in his eyes never failed to make her wet, and she prayed to any gods listening that he never stopped looking at her the way he did for she would go mad.

“You are as stubborn now as you were then, my king,” she crooned as he led her to the bed. When they arrived at the foot of it Jon lifted her as if she weighed nothing and playfully tossed her on the mound of furs and coverlets.

An eyebrow raised, her husband crawled in between her legs, smirking as he wordlessly let her know that she must not say such things when they could easily apply to her as well.

As he neared, her heart settled and in a brief moment of tenderness she cupped both of his cheeks in her palms, the feel of his wiry beard familiar and comforting. Oh, how grateful she was to have him by her side.

“I love you,” she whispered, smiling softly as his eyes lit up from her words as they always did when she told him this truth.

He swallowed thickly before kissing her deeply, showing her what his heart was too full to voice at that moment.

Whe he pulled away he gazed into his wife’s violet orbs and smiled, asking, “Do you remember when we had wed during the strongest snowfall before the Great War?”

That may have been the only good memory she could associate to winter, no matter how horrible the climate. That, and when Jon had taken her to bed following the simple feast they had had with the people and nobility.

How could she forget?

Daenerys nodded.

“I had never been as warm as when I watched you make your way towards me, to willingly have me as your husband, no matter the odds.”

A stray curl was tucked behind her ear, and the pad of his thumb caressed her bottom lip. She could feel him thickening against her thigh and all she wanted was to drown in his taste and the feel of him buried inside her, this beautiful and loving husband of hers. She felt her arousal building and she could no longer wait.

Claiming his lips fervently, Daenerys parted her legs for him and guided him inside her cunt, his entry aided by just how wet she already was for him.

“You will always have me, Jon. So have me now, have me every waking day and every night whenever you need to remember that I am yours until the end of our days, my love,” she said, gasping the last few words as her husband started to roll his hips and thrust into her, his cock parting the walls of her sex deliciously.

“I need no such reminder anymore, my queen,” Jon panted against her ear, the tight clasp of her the sweetest torture. “I am yours and you are mine.”

“Aye,” she agreed.

 


	18. In Another Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In another life, what could have been?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy on the Jon feels, so I'll need your guys' input on how I did! <3 
> 
> Also, I loved writing this, so it'd mean the world if you guys could share if you felt anything while reading it or if I need to work harder on drawing out those emotions. :*

“There is nothing you can do to stop me from mounting Drogon and doing my duty." 

The words rang true and it made him curse at the Gods yet he could not blame them fully. It was he who had spilled himself in her depths every time they had coupled, drowning her with his hope for a wish fulfilled. 

A child for her to bear and call her heir. A child of _theirs_.

“You know that, don’t you?” 

Eyes downcast Jon nodded in defeat, in helplessness, a hand flexing to rein in the fear flowing through his veins. 

He could lose her and the child he never thought he would sire, the child thriving in her belly. 

Daenerys wished she could ease his fears, appease his paternal urge to shelter her and the babe within her from harm, but what queen was she if she hid and escaped to the far reaches of the world? She would be no different than those she opposed.

A dragon does not cower from its enemies. 

Kneeling before her husband she attempted to console him with her touch, hands running from the caps of his knees, up his thighs, and then up his arms. 

"If this was an ordinary war, I would reconsider joining the fray, but it is far from it, Jon,” she whispered, her voice cracking at the heartbreak swallowing his gaze as he looked at her. “We are at war with monsters we could only hope to defeat. Beings who need neither rest nor food." 

_And I can’t lose you_ , she wanted to add, but didn’t. If she could tilt the odds in their favour by riding Drogon and taking Rhaegal, and in effect increase the chances of Jon surviving as well, she would, without any hesitation. 

The War for the Dawn- the Great War, as people have started calling it… this war will mark the beginning of their legacy should they prevail. If they fall, well, it wouldn’t matter for all would be lost, and Cersei could just watch from whatever crevice she crawls into for safety as the world crumbled and the dead consumed it with corruption at the Night King’s behest. 

"I wish I had met you then,” Jon lamented, drawing her from her dark thoughts as his touch soothed her weariness. Onyx eyes found hers as they started to water, and she gave him a bittersweet smile, leaning further into the palm cupping her cheek. 

“I fear you would not have liked me then, my love,” she teased, recalling the girl she had been and comparing her to who she was, now. 

“Viserys I certainly would not have liked,” Jon snorted. His voice turning gruff he grinned fondly, telling her, “But I’ve been told your heart was kind even in youth.”

“Let’s go to bed, Jon,” Daenerys smiled instead, ignoring his words and twining their fingers to pull him in the direction of their shared bed. 

When they settled, he pulled her over so that she could drape him with the softness of her skin and the glory of her unbound mane. 

“In another life, we could have been betrothed, in love from when we were children,” Jon mused, the rough pad of his thumb caressing the curve of her chin. “In this one, I am grateful that I made the journey to you, for I could never have been happier as I am now, Dany. Death knocks at our gates yet I am happy to be where I am right now, with you.”

“I never pegged you for a poet,” his queen japed, a light giggle escaping her throat though her chest swelled at his words. She knew how he felt, and she grieved the time they seemingly had left before it all became all the more unpredictable and darker. 

“I don’t fear death, I have gone and returned,” Jon intoned, his face falling as his fingers toyed with the ends of a lock of silver hair. “But I fear losing you and the babe, Dany. More than failing our people, this is what I fear most. Things I never knew I wanted until you.”

Struck by a sudden, gripping dread, Daenerys’ eyes dropped to the fingers toying with the sparse hairs on her husband’s chest. 

“What is it?” Her chin was gently tilted so that she may gaze back into worried eyes, the black pit of them a warm pool of comfort to her sudden warring emotions. 

She tried to shake her head to brush it off, but with a purse of his lips and a silent plea in the form of a quiet whisper of her name, she sighed, looking at him vulnerably. 

“Do you regret this?" 

Barely a whisper, barely heard, but the moment the question left her lips Jon sat up, so he could enfold her within his embrace, both hands carefully landing on the barely noticeable curve of her stomach. 

"Gods, no!” Jon breathed fiercely, guilt suddenly wracking him as he thought of anything he might have done to evoke such an enquiry from her lips, if he’d given her any unintentional indication at all. 

He did regret many a thing, but putting a babe in the woman he loved was not one of them. He could vividly recall the beautiful wonder and disbelief in her face when she’d told him. If anything, it was his greatest pride, fulfilling her wish, giving her that which she desired more than anything. Giving her such happiness.

How could he put into words the joy he felt? 

Not one for flowery words, he struggled to tell her of the emotions assaulting his mind and heart; the joy that she was carrying a being half her and half him inside her, the fear that they would be taken, Uncle Benjen’s words of warning from a past seemingly a lifetime ago. 

Foolish boy he’d been, readily giving this all up. The joy. The wonder. All of it. 

He knew, now. 

He _understood_. 

Reclining once more against the pillows and taking her down with him, he told her. She settled atop his chest, and he told her of a man who had warned him of what he was giving up. 

Of what he _had_ given up until he’d died and his watch had ended. 

He whispered what he never would have gained if he had not travelled south to meet her. 

What he might not have known if he hadn’t knocked on her door. 

All she could manage afterward was a breathless exhalation of his name and a thorough kiss upon his lips, tears escaping her eyes. 

They only parted for air, and he didn’t know that tears had escaped him until she was kissing them dry. 

“I love you,” Dany whispered when she’d finished, and she proceeded to drink from his mouth once more, unable to resist the pull of his taste, the call of and depth of his own love for her. 

“And I you, Dany,” Jon murmured against her mouth before coaxing her tongue to dance with his. 

Neither knew what the future held, but both hoped their efforts, tactics, and the might of their armies and dragons were enough to award them victory. 

The fact that the odds were stacked against them was not lost to either, but there was more to lose now, so much they thought they would never have in this life or the next. 

“In another life,” Dany gasped, breathing upon his suddenly sullen face. A hand framing his jaw, she leaned her forehead to his. “You would be mine, my prince in youth, my king in due time. You would father my children. We would rule in peace.”

“In _this_ life,” Jon corrected, his chest brimming with a determination he prayed would last through the wars before them. “You will have all you wish, in this lifetime, Daenerys Stormborn. We shall fight for what could be and the change we wish to make in this damned world. And we will do it together.”

Empowered by his words, Dany nodded, biting her lip as she gazed into eyes almost molten in their conviction. 

“Together.”


End file.
